


Dear Hector

by FrankensteinIsland



Series: If You're Hector, Who's Cassandra? [1]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Curses, F/M, Guilt, Letters, Movie: Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End, Movie: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest, Multi, Original Character-centric, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 19:12:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11088114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankensteinIsland/pseuds/FrankensteinIsland
Summary: A letter to a dead man, found floating somewhere. (Takes place between the events of Dead Man's Chest and At World's End.)





	Dear Hector

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, a long-running Pirates fic has been one of my go-to daydreams for quite some time now. Since it's been hard to get Barbossa off my mind since I saw Dead Men Tell No Tales, I decided to finally write up this letter that some hot mess would have sent Hector when she thought he was still dead. I'm making it part of a series in case I ever decide to write up the rest of the story. However, it won't be in this epistolary format, so this thing is going to stand alone. If it's not your cup of tea, it's at least mercifully short.

Dear Hector,

I don’t know if messages in bottles can make it to the land of the dead, but I imagine the rivers of Hades run into the ocean the same as the rest of them, so this is worth a try. Either way, I need the distraction of writing something.

Please indulge me for a moment, and let me chastise you for being dead. I apologize, but you had to know this was coming. How dare you leave us seconds after the curse broke? Do you have any idea how difficult it is to readjust to having mortal flesh? Once a person becomes accustomed to invincibility, one starts bumping into objects indiscriminately because she can’t be harmed. Now she can, and I have to pay attention not to trip over furniture. This is to say nothing of suddenly experiencing hunger, thirst, and the need to sleep after subsisting on spite alone for ten years. I expect that if you did somehow get this note, you’re laughing at me now. I suppose I can’t blame you for that, nor can I blame you too much for Jack getting his chance to shoot you. I can blame him, but I hope you won’t hate me if I say I have no desire to take revenge at this time.

Anyway, I imagine that my trouble readjusting to my current state of liveliness may have had something to do with the predicament in which I presently find myself. Having quartermastered on the Pearl for some time, I thought I should try to find a position of similar rank on another ship. In hindsight, this would have been an excellent strategy, were I a man. A woman has to prove herself repeatedly, and my previous captain died before he could write me a reference letter. (Having only worked briefly under Jack’s command and longer under yours, I am not entirely sure whether I am joking about references or not. In any case,) my newly weak and mortal form quickly tired of trying to impress the great men of Tortuga, and I decided to reacquaint myself with the joys of getting drunk.

During this time, I also became better acquainted -- and I regret to inform you much better acquainted -- with that commodore who was pursuing Miss Swann last year. I only know parts of the long story of how he came to be in that inn that night, but suffice it to say that his prospects were even worse than mine at the time. I will spare you additional details and only include this bit because it is relevant to where I am now. It must add with emphasis how dreadfully a person wants to feel something when she is recovering from an Aztec curse and has been subsisting on nothing but the aforementioned spite for the aforementioned 10 yrs.

It happened that Mr. Norrington was subsisting on spite and liquor at this time, and he decided to join the (once again) Captain Sparrow’s crew. I would have been happy to see him off and never see that ship again, but fate conspired against me. Mr. Pintel and Mr. Ragetti had gotten mixed up with Jack’s new venture (escaping the wrath of Davy Jones, in case you were curious), and I imagined you would want me to make sure our friend Cpt. Sparrow didn’t find a way to curse them again or cheat them out of any payment. Ship or no ship, a quartermaster’s crew are supposed to be her brothers, and I thought it my duty to protect my brothers from their fickle new leader.

It was in this spirit that I later attempted to make a noble sacrifice. The fact that I am writing to you now and have not yet joined you in Wherever You Went tells you that I was unsuccessful. Norrington and I were to fight off the crew of The Flying Dutchman, allow Jack and his comrades to escape, and both die heroically. In actuality, Norrington stole D. Jones’ heart with the intention to bring it to the powers that be and get back in their good graces. Although the feeling of loyalty to my crewmates remained, I saw the helplessness of the situation and went with Norrington even after I realized our goals were in opposition.

This catches you up to my current situation. I am pardoned from my previous crimes and attempting to once again live among polite society, this time as the newly promoted Norrington’s kept woman. To make matters worse, I am kept on land, while he is at sea using the Reaper’s heart to try to end piracy forever. I think I miss being on a ship more than I miss my own integrity. Is that horrible? I didn’t use it for long anyway.

I fear I will have to wait this war out. I doubt there are any ruffians who would like to sail out of Port Royal with me, and I am not up to the task of commandeering and sailing a ship alone. I believe there is a symmetry here, as I was in a prison of my own making when you and I first met. On the off chance that you have any influence on earth from beyond the grave, perhaps you could find a way to convince someone else to rescue me again.

More likely, someone who is alive and not named Hector is reading this letter anyway and is now confused and mortified by the brief glimpse into my life. That serves them right for opening mail that doesn’t belong to them.

Yours,

WM


End file.
